


Grand Gestures

by bergamot



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, At least no one dies!, F/M, Ficlet, Fluff and Angst, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 09:55:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9716225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bergamot/pseuds/bergamot
Summary: Jaime takes a big risk, but was it all in vain?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day to the shippiest of ships and the best fandom out there!
> 
> P.S. - Writing 500 words is tough!

Jaime stands alone in Brienne’s apartment, clutching a red rose in one hand and his coat in the other. Brienne is long gone, and the pain of her departure lingers in his chest. He makes his way to the entry, his feet shushing through the rose petals he'd sprinkled on the floor earlier in the afternoon. Brienne had taken one look at them and burst into tears. He’d barely had time to say her name before she’d fled.

He turns in the entry and looks around the apartment. He can’t count the number of times he’s curled up with Brienne on her sofa to watch old Yiti fight films. Or how many times she’s cooked him dinner in her tiny kitchen. He’s only been in her bedroom a few times, but even that room holds fond memories of teasing her about her wardrobe or her king-size bed. Anything to see her plain face blush pink.

Jaime sighs at the mess he’s made and wonders if he should clean up the roses before he leaves. Then he’s annoyed with himself that he’d even consider it. She left him—remember?

He’d even prepared a speech for her. His brother had helped him work on it most of last night. One bottle of fine Northern whisky later and they’d both agreed that simple was best.

“Just tell her you love her,” Tyrion advised.

“She’ll run away,” said Jaime. 

Tyrion waved the empty whisky bottle and shook his head. “From you? Doubtful. Besides, women can’t resist a grand romantic gesture.”

What a colossal mistake that'd been. Jaime turns to the door and wonders if he has enough cab fare to get across town. He’d sent his driver home early—another mistake. Perhaps he should just walk; the fresh air might clear his head.

He wonders if Brienne has made it Margaery’s apartment yet. He pictures her sprawled out on the pretty woman’s sofa while her freckled face grows blotchy with new tears. A thought occurs to Jaime that maybe she stopped crying halfway down the block. Maybe she and Margaery are laughing at him instead.

He grips the half-forgotten rose between his fingers and then sighs. Brienne wouldn’t laugh at him, even if she thought he was the stupidest man she’d ever met. She’s too good a person. It’s why Jaime loves her.

He tosses the rose on the floor where it joins the discarded petals, and he shrugs on his coat. He tugs the door open for the last time, trying not to think about saying goodbye.

“Hello.”

He stops.

Brienne stands in the doorway, her keys in one hand and a giant bouquet of white daisies in the other. Her startling blue eyes are red-rimmed and glassy, but her cheeks are dry.

She looks nervously at the apartment behind him, at the hallway, at her feet. She clears her throat, waves the bouquet, and finally meets Jaime’s eyes. “I’m not very fond of roses,” she says. “How do you feel about daisies?”


End file.
